Acting is escape. You wake up, go to work, and with a little effort (and the help of a lot of talented people), step into another world. There's nothing else like it. It is its own entity, separate from the boundaries of reality. Yet sometimes, reality manages to creep in, and when that happens the fallout from the collision is unavoidable.

Witness as follows:

Karl loves acting. It's something he started doing when he was eight years old. Sure it's not all roses. One of the most grating things is transition: the time spent traveling in between worlds, also known as the realm of make up and wardrobe. It takes some getting used to.

Sometimes make up can take a while, and then it's off to long and tedious time spent in wardrobe. It's a trial in patience, to say the least. It doesn't help when he's still trying to catch up on the sleep he has missed last Saturday night. Sunday was a busy day, and he went to bed late. Up most of the night, on the phone with a certain Brit just talking about everything and nothing. The way good conversations should be. Although Middle-Earth looks relaxing, he's knows it's just an act. Karl can safely say that Mondays are, without a doubt, a bitch.

He's changing when he hears a familiar voice coming from the next room. Something, or someone, is making a scene in makeup. "Attention everyone. Able to shoot two arrows at a time, run across snow-covered mountain tops, and leap tiny hobbits in a single bound, it's Elf Boy!"

Karl chuckles. It's Orlando; he always was a Superman fan. In the next room, a female voice barks, "Orli! If you don't sit down in this chair and stop moving, I am not going to be responsible for your dead body."

Karl finishes dressing and starts to head out. He stops next door to watch the spectacle that Orlando's started. Orlando catches his eye and shakes his head dramatically. "Everyone's always jealous of the talent." One of the make-up girls simply rolls her eyes as Orlando smirks before flopping down in a chair. He swivels around to face the mirror and points at his reflection. "Okay, Elf-itize me."

Karl chuckles to himself and moves off. The smile stays on his face for quite some time.

Later on in the break room, the machines are humming in the background. Karl looks them over, trying to decide if he wants caffeine, insta-tea, insta-coffee, or insta-pop. Gotta love low quality vending machines. Off-duty crew and extras are chatting it up. The talk doesn't stop as the people go in and out. Karl's tired, fatigued, and then some. Getting paid to ride horses all day sounds like it could be relaxing, but when Jackson's out there directing, he can guarantee you: it so isn't.

All he wants is to get out of costume, shower, and sleep, and then he'll be content. Presses the button for a pop, and crouches down to wait for it to drop. When he stands, someone's behind him. He turns to see Orlando. Orli's hands are behind his body, resting where they would be if he were wearing jeans rather than faded green. He's rocking slightly on his toes, almost completely in Karl's personal space.

"Hey," he greets. His eyes are blue-tinted contacts and filled with hope. A smile comes over Karl's face, and the tension leaves Orlando's body.

"I saw you earlier," Karl points out, "but I didn't have a chance to stop."

"It's okay." Orlando leans close, his lips brushing Karl's. After a moment, lips part, and Orlando's tongue searches, as if to possess him. Then he's gone, leaving Karl with wanting in his eyes. Orlando stayed just long enough to be sure of his effect and has retreated safely back with that knowledge. Orlando backs towards the door, his explanation already on his lips. "I've got to get back. I'll catch you up later."

After he leaves, Karl can feel every pair of eyes looking at him. Not a comfortable sensation, he decides. He's paranoid for the rest of the day; whenever they're not filming he feels like he's being watched. Whenever anyone mentions Legolas, he tries hard not to blush, and he's not going to even deal with the name Orlando.

He walks through the set and hears bits of conversation, none of it important. The topics change before he can even cross the room. Rumors are one of the hardest things to control. Unlike buzz, rumors are unwanted attention and, regretfully, unavoidable. There's a few ways they can be dealt with, some actually work.

Deny them and stay firm in that conviction-- No, he wasn't snogging with Orlando earlier today-- or ignore them. Trying to do anything else will waste more energy and cause more aggravation. There's always another choice, and that's to confirm the rumors, which is far from bloody likely.

Thinking about it a bit more closely, Karl gets an epiphany. If he's rumor control, then Orlando must be the buzz. Orlando's never been exactly subtle, and he's very far from shy. Karl's not quite sure how to deal with that, the lack of modesty thing, because he has to admit everything is new. Karl knows that he likes Orlando a lot, but this whole 'guy' thing is still tossing him for a bit of a loop. It's a bit uncomfortable and takes some getting used to, and Karl's fairly certain he doesn't want to hear every moment talked about. He may be twenty-six, but he feels more like a wide-eyed teenager, and he doesn't like that a bit.

The rest of his day is downcast. He avoids the populated areas, enjoying the silence of solitude. Eventually, he makes his way back to civilization. Peter's looking at the playback. He doesn't like the shot. The animal trainers don't want the horses to give it another go until tomorrow. Daylight's burning fast, and Pete would have to be quick to set up another scene. He makes his decision and calls it. They're done for the day.

Scuttling back to wardrobe, when Karl hears Orlando's carefree laugh. He hesitates, but he's not sure why. He turns around; now's a good time to ask Peter the question about tomorrow's scene. But he doesn't take two steps before Viggo catches him. "How are you feeling today?"

"Fresh as a daisy. See, I have this thing called youth."

Viggo punches Karl's arm, none too lightly. "Didn't anyone tell you to respect your elders?"

"Besides you? Not a soul."

"So..." and the word is stretched out for beats longer than it should be. It's the inquisitive "so." The "so" that is a question all by its ruddy lonesome. Something's up, and he wants to know "so."

"Yeah?" Karl retorts a bit sharply. He's still trying to define his relationship, if this is what it is. He isn't exactly up for discussing it yet.

"How are you and Orlando getting on?"

"We're good, and let's just leave it at that, mate."

Viggo nods in understanding. Privacy is also hard to come by in this field. Someone's ear is always listening in, and another person's camera always snooping about. They walk inside. Karl smiles at Orlando but doesn't take the seat next to him. He does, however, watch as Orlando speaks energized nonsense. Every so often, their eyes meet. Blue contacts falling over brown eyes, scrutinizing, most likely trying to see what Karl's playing at. Karl stays relaxed as if there isn't anything he should be fretting about.

When he's done and had shed Legolas's appearance, Orlando lingers for just a moment. Karl's still got a while, Orlando can tell. He hesitates as if unsure whether to go or to stay. The question is in his eyes. Karl shrugs slightly to say, do what you want. Orlando's not a child; he can make up his own mind. But the indifference wasn't the answer Orlando was looking for, and he stalks out of the room.

Karl pauses, quite sure he's done something wrong. But... still... it's not as if they're at that level yet. They're not holding hands between takes. This didn't become every-waking-moment-together all of a sudden. Hell, he's still wondering what 'this' is.

Karl figures he'll catch up with Orlando later, off the set, and he does. Orlando's gabbing it up, casual-like (of course, there is no reason not to be casual) with Elijah and Dom. He sees Karl approach and regards him with a pointed look before ignoring his approach. Karl greets the lot of them with a nod of the head.

Concentrating alternately on his cigarette and the conversation, 'Lijah's clueless to the tension hanging in the air. Dom's eyes flicker from Karl back to Orlando and back again. Soon, Orlando's near glaring, and that becomes the signal for Dom to grab Elijah and make a hasty exit. Most likely to the break room, where Dom'll fill Elijah in on all the sordid details.

They stand in silence, and Karl's got a pretty good inclination that if he doesn't start talking Orlando's just going to walk away.

"What?" Karl asks shifting under the uncomfortable glare.

"You act like nothing's changed."

Karl's eyes shift nervously from his gaze. He hooks his thumbs on his jean loops and tries not to look intimidated. "Yeah, you know, casual. Discreet."

"Uh huh." From his patronizing tone, Karl can tell Orlando thinks the lot of it is shite. Orlando smiles, more of a somber smirk and sighs. "Okay then. I guess I'll see you around, mate." He turns to punctuate his statement, and Karl can't help thinking that he's in a snit.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Something in his voice makes Orlando stop; Karl's not sure if it's the degree of hostility or maybe the faint indignation. Orlando scoffs and turns back around. "I'm not shy." Orlando points to himself before throwing his arms wide. "I don't even know how to play at being shy. Life's too short for bloody discreet. Look, I like you, I'd like to give it a go and see what happens, but you need to make up your mind. If you want some time, take it. Figure out what you want and let me know when you do."

Stunned, Karl can do nothing but watch as Orlando pushes past him. He heads to his car, and Karl just watches as he gets in. The driver's side door slams with an unsettling sense of finality. A large part of Karl can't help but think it's for the best. It hasn't even been a week, and whatever this is, it's already too bloody complicated.

Angry, the car engine shuts off abruptly. The door slams, followed a few minutes later by the one to his building. Relationships, even budding ones, are more bloody trouble than they're worth. Walks up three flights of stairs, clomping all the way before slamming the door to his flat as well. Orlando shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it on the couch. Renting a space for a year isn't the most cost-effective way to go about things, but if you want to be anti-social and around familiar shite, there's nothing better. Finds the remote and clicks the stereo on, and loud music fills the room.

He tries to drift into the music to avoid thinking. What the hell exactly is a casual relationship, he wonders. People are like a drug. If you like them, you should want more. That's Orlando's mindset. Patient is one thing, but Orlando doesn't even know what they're doing-- if anything-- anymore.

Frustrated, he can't get his mind off it. He walks out of the room; maybe some food will help. Opens the 'fridge, drops to his haunches, and wonders which leftover takeout to chow down on. Is it too much to ask to know where the fuck he stands? Maybe the day-old pizza; that has promise. Doesn't he deserve that much? Hmm... perhaps the chicken from two nights prior.

After a few moments of distraction, he brings food back to the other room. Music's still pumping without stop. Sets the plate down on the table, next to the phone. He will not call. He won't. He can live with friendship. Sure as fuck it's a lot less complicated, and there's no need to be bloody fucking discreet about that.

The phone rings, and by the time the first titter is done, it's in his hand. He stops himself from picking up the call. For a moment he savors it, but then answers on the third ring. "'Lo?"

"Hey, how you doing?" Viggo, checking up on him.

Orlando shrugs. "Eh."

"That good, huh?" Viggo says. "Dom was a bit concerned."

And the hits just keep on coming. Yes, let's worry about our friends. Yes, we do not understand the concept of personal space. Yes, we're doing it because we care. Yes, we're doing it because we have to work with you. Yes, we can't wait until tomorrow to get the gossip we can today. "It was nothing."

"You're letting this get to you. You rarely ever do that. If you want to talk..."

It's easy. He can just say, 'No, I'm good.' and hang up the phone, but the truth is, it's not making sense, and... "I just don't know anymore."

"Look, why don’t you meet me at the diner, and we'll sit down and talk about it."

He takes the back roads home-- well the longer back roads in any case. The scenery passes, but it seems endless, making him think he's not getting anywhere. That actually wouldn't be a bad thing because he wants peaceful time to think, not quiet brooding at his house.

The stereo is on, but he's not listening one bit. Nor does he hear the rush of the wind whipping along his window. He sees the road but doesn't think about driving. He just seems to do it automatically, going along without really thinking about it. It's not really one of those things you have to think about after all.

Just driving, only peripherally aware of everything around. He sees the trees; they don't concern him. Neither does the sky or the weather. Their temperaments don't change the fact that he still has to travel to get where he's going. All that matters is the road. Everything else is just background noise.

One hand rests lazily on the wheel. Some things simply don't need to be analyzed. They just need to be done.

That's all it boils down to.

Actually, it seems almost too simple.

Karl smiles, turning up the volume of the radio. The music blares as the car drives just a bit faster. There's a reason to go home now. He's got a phone call to make.

Fingers drum impatiently on the counter. The waitress has just left with their orders, and they've got a good twenty minutes to do nothing but talk. Orlando wishes the food were already here. He could skip the whole talk thing and be engrossed in eating. Munchity, munch, munch, equals tactical aversion. Viggo's fingers are just resting on the table. He knows the same thing Orlando does. Orlando wants to be here, he wants to talk; if he didn't, he wouldn't have bothered to leave the flat.

Viggo's just waiting, sipping his drink, and looking at Orlando. Tappity, tap, tap. Fingers tapping a crazy beat. Orlando watches as Viggo's eyes glance to them and back to him. Orlando sighs and stops. Leans back in the chair.

"You know, I just don't know anymore..." It sounds casual and cool and collected enough. But the story tumbles out after it; it needs to be told. Viggo just listens, without interrupting, save for the occasional murmur of agreement. Orlando details everything that happened, from their arrival at Karl's place to today's confrontation. Orlando's hands are moving as he talks, and he's getting frustrated. "I'm not reading into this, am I? I mean, I'm getting mixed signals here, right?"

Before words of wisdom and advice can flow from Viggo, Orlando shakes his head. "You know what... forget it. It's not worth it..." and he changes the topic. Some sort of mundane topic, anything to distract himself.

They eat quickly, talking about work and weather, and eventually pay their bill. They depart casually, and Orlando knows Vig'll keep everything to himself. Listens to the radio on the way back, enters the flat to find he's still left the stereo on. There's a little light blinking. Caller ID. Grabs the phone, checks voice mail and hears that accented voice. "Hey. It's me. I'll be in later if you want to call me back. Bye."

Twiddles with the phone a bit, wondering if he should. Dials. Waits. Ring, ring, ri-- "Hey." Pauses. "I got your call."

"Yeah, hey. Look, I wanted to talk to you about today... and Saturday."

"Oh?" Orlando asks innocently. Pretends he doesn't have any clue where Karl's headed, savors and dreads the moment that's to come.

"I don't feel comfortable."

Ah, okay. Got it. It was worth a shot, he guesses. They can downshift to being friends. But Karl continues before Orlando can pick what he wants to say.

"I do feel comfortable with you, though. I'm not entirely sure why."

Orlando chuckles and acts as if he's offended. "Did your last girlfriend let you speak to her like that?"

There's a long pause on the other end. Orlando sucks in a breath and realizes that he's just hit the problem square on its conservative-minded head. The silence continues, and Orlando's pretty sure he should say something, but he's not exactly sure what.

Karl continues on nervously. "Just give me some time. Everything's going a bit fast for me."

"Sure, I guess," but the words sound hollow even to Orlando's own ears; in fact, he's shocked at how calm he sounds.

"I'm also thinking the alcohol had a lot to do with it."

As if that had anything to do with earlier today. Forget it. "Karl, if you want to go back to friends, that's fine. Just answer us a question first, did it feel wrong?"

Wait, wait, wait... silence... oh bloody hell. Impatient with waiting Orlando snips out, "When you figure that out, let me know?" Waits a moment. The other end is silent. Orlando hangs up the phone.

Tuesday passes and the phone stays silent. When they see each other in passing (which was rare as filming has sped up) they nod acknowledgment absently and give empty one-word greetings. The rumors have gotten around. That the one drunken night had turned out to be exactly that: one. Everyone, including Dom, is tactfully avoiding conversation, and no one is making the effort to pry. Even Viggo who has not been updated, doesn't hunt for new details. The word is: whatever had happened is over and done with.

Orlando just wants to go through his days; there's no avoiding work. His resolution to avoid Karl is quite ineffective. He resolves to stop looking, stop staring, both in an effort to stop caring. It doesn't work. Moments when the older man doesn't realize he's being watched, Orlando stands, captivated. He can't help thinking it could've been a great thing.

It's Wednesday when they pass in the hall. Eomer headed back to get make-up fixed; Legolas going out to war. This time is different. Before the perfunctory greeting, Karl stops. Orlando does the same. They can feel it coming, that this will be one of those final moments, but neither has the time for it. Just before Karl speaks, Orlando realizes he doesn't want an apology. Moreover, he doesn't want this done where everyone is sure to watch with inquisitive eyes.

"Can I talk to you before you leave today?" Karl asks.

Orlando shrugs. "I guess. After we wrap, out by my car."

Karl nods and heads into the back room. Orlando walks outside, wondering how Legolas is going to hold a bow steady when he feels as if he's going to start to shake. Hours later, tired, sweatier, he's free to leave. Aching muscles want nothing more than to lie done and rest. For a Good. Long. Time. Fatigue drives him, and then he wishes he could avoid the confrontation that he's managed to forget about. There's no way out; he's not getting home without his car.

Karl's waiting, looking nervous and more than a bit chagrined. He pushes off the side of the car and Orlando's just standing there.

"I want to apologize for screwing around so long."

Orlando just wants to shrug. Hell, he just wants to shower. He wants to show that it doesn't bloody matter one tiny little bloody bit. He's trying to keep the façade in place as he accepts defeat gracefully. "Not a problem," he says with more than a bit of a brush off.

"You gave me a lot to think about."

Orlando just wants him to get to the point so he can leave. Karl steps close... a goodbye hug, then. Have a nice life mate; don't bother to post me on holiday. Karl's voice is practically in his ear. "There's something I realized I wanted to do the other night when we were on the phone."

The bells and whistles should have gone off at the word 'do'. Orlando should have realized it should have been 'say.' But he's realized there's no good in beating your head against a brick wall. What's done is done, and the strings are being cut. Karl leans close. Orlando calls it as a goodbye kiss, a pity snog at that. He reaches for it, too. If it's the last one, he's not going to waste it.

Tongue slides over tongue. It's not like any kiss they've had before. This one is gentle, soft, something more delicate, and more important than the hormonal lust they've had before. Orlando doesn't want to stop, but he wants to be the one to break it off. He wants to be the one to let go and maintain an illusion of control in the situation. Situation being: dealing with the relationship that never was.

"Thanks," Orlando breathes more than he says it.

The soft taste is still in his mouth and the subtle cologne still around him. He's fairly certain that the moments weren't worth it all, but he can't really say he has any regrets. He took a shot, rolled the dice, and just didn't come out a winner. Can't do a thing to change it; just gotta move on. He moves to break away, get in his car, and take a nice cold shower, but the hands are still around him. And they're not letting go.

He looks up, surprised, not really understanding the new twist. He has an idea, but he doesn't want to jump to conclusions again. Brown eyes meet brown, and Orlando licks his lips. He can still taste him. He feels stupid, but he needs to ask. "So what did that mean, exactly?"

"If you still want to, I'm ready to give it a go."

Orlando smiles, triumphant, but doesn't speak. He's wanted and fretted for too long, and he deserves to hear this. To hear Karl sighing and saying, "I'm sorry, that it took me a bit." Karl waits, then shifts uncomfortably in the silence. "So what do you say?"

His guard is still up, even though he's smiling from ear to ear. Orlando has to ask, "You sure this time?"

"Very." And to emphasis it, another kiss. Orlando stops thinking and is just content to melt into the embrace and be happy. This kiss is different... full of lust... full of hope and desire. They pull apart, as much as they can and still be close.

"I think I'm convinced." Orlando doesn't want to part now. He's waited and waited and is quite sick of waiting.

Karl seems to read his mind. "Are you busy?"

"Now?" If Orlando'd had plans, they'd be cancelled after that.

"Yeah, now. I haven't eaten. I was going to get some food." Karl hesitates slightly but speaks boldly. "I want you to come."